


prompt: Concert

by orphan_account



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2013-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-05 00:46:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1087597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Underground concerts are underestimated</p>
            </blockquote>





	prompt: Concert

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't actually given a prompt for this one, but saw a picture which worked as one. Besides, I had promised myself a concert drabble a while ago.

You'd been to concerts a lot of times, both big shows in arenas and underground concerts in secluded bars, but not one had resembled this one. The music had been perfect and the atmosphere too, and even though you didn't meet anyone you felt pretty comfortable the whole time.

You weren't sure what made you walk in, but there was something in the night and the ad for the show that made you think, why not? 

And now you thanked yourself you'd followed your instinct, because you were having the night of your life. 

Somewhen across the night, you took notice of the band's cellist. His cello was big and red and he was sitting behind it, so he didn't occupy much of the spotlight in the show; yet, somehow, a light seemed to shine on him all the time. It must have been his blonde hair, which reflected every light that came its way as if it were a mirror, or the way he pursed his lips in concentration still managing to keep a smile on all the time that caught your eye. 

You're not sure when he took notice of you, but glances were exchanged along the night. During the final song, a passionate cello-violin duet, he made a particular point to stare straight into your eyes whenever his were open. The vibrato of the song resonated inside you. 

The concert ended, the musicians took their bow and you were left sitting alone at a table. You hadn't realized that you felt accompanied while they were on stage. While he was on stage.

Then you felt a hand on your shoulder, and your arm quivered, spilling some of your red wine on your lap. You turned around and found, centimeters apart from your own, that face you looked upon through the whole night, and his eyes were blue as the bluest of oceans, like sunlight reflected in the deep end of the pool in a summer morning. 

He was too close, and it was too late, and you were too blissful to even realized that you leaned forward and kiss him across the table. His arm still on your shoulder lifted you up, and his other wrapped around your back, pulling you close. You felt his fingers tapping a slow beat across your back, his hips rocking against yours following it. 

Falling backwards against a corner, you opened your eyes and a louder breath escaped your lips. His hands were buried in the back of your hair, and tugged softly at it from time to time. It was like a game, a war, a competition- who'd have the biggest effect on who? His pulling your hair was, you were sure, defeating your hand on his back, tapping on it and drawing patterns on it, but you convinced yourself otherwise the second your fingers brushed his spine and he trembled, arching your back, pressing further against you, pulling your hair as back as it would go, exposing your neck and leaving it as a still blank canvas for him to paint on. 

And he took his opportunity. As his spasm was over he buried his face on your neck, still pushed back, and kissed roughly and undeliberately all across it, from right under your chin to your collarbones he kissed and bit and licked and applied pressure. He pulled apart for a second, as if trying to regain himself, but his warm breath on your neck was something you wouldn't take. You lowered your head again, looking at him, and pulled his own head back to expose his neck. 

Everything he had done to you he'd have turned against him, every way he teased you and every way he left you gasping for air and wanting for more. You replicated what he had done exactly on his skin, but his being more sensitive, the marks began to show faster, and he felt it even more. He let out a breath, and a moan, and then he was holding as tightly as he could to your back and supressing a scream and not being successful and just letting it out, and your bite on his neck pushed him even further, his hips rocking against you now almost involuntarily, as he buried his hands in the back of your shirt and scratched at your lower back, as if trying to leave a mark of his own for you to remember.

**Author's Note:**

> wow this is long  
> edit: not as long as I thought. Meh.


End file.
